hope remains
by imperfectandchaotic
Summary: The Doctor has nightmares. "She's always been a light sleeper, ever since — well, it's another thing she can attribute to the madman with the box. The Doctor moans intelligibly. It feels like forever before she can bring herself to open the door."


**hope remains**

**Disclaimer: **Out of every fandom I could possibly own, _Doctor Who _has to be the most far-fetched. I literally have no idea what I would do with it. Shirtless Matt Smith, perhaps?

**Note: **First foray into _Doctor Who_, and I'm feeling especially nervous because my darling friend Lynn, who is way more versed in Whovian than I am, is going to be reading. I'm a complete newbie at everything Doctor Who except for series 5 and smatterings of David Tennant, which I doubt counts for much. I'm just hoping the fans are as lovely as they seem to be. Have I mentioned I'm Canadian? Haha. At least I'll spell to English liking, right?

Set post **Vampires of Venice**

* * *

Sometimes the Doctor talks in his sleep. Sometimes he screams, and sometimes the Doctor cries. Amy figures it's the TARDIS's way of watching over her Time Lord, because somehow his room appears one night down the hall where it's never been. His voice floats through the quiet and rouses her from her sleep. There's thankfully no need to grope blindly through the corridor, and Amy is grateful. (especially after the Angels, which she has a feeling the Doctor and TARDIS understand)

A soft, warm glow from who-knows-where lights her way to the only other door in the hall. Amy places her hand against the smooth, dark wood and tries to imagine nine hundred years worth of memories. It's too overwhelming, but the familiar hum of the Doctor's voice draws her out before she can drown in the thought.

Rory hadn't so much as snorted when Amy slipped out of bed. She's always been a light sleeper, ever since—well, it's another thing she can attribute to the madman with the box. Amy supposes it's a good thing her fiance is dead to the world. Amy hasn't missed the looks Rory and the Doctor have been exchanging lately, nor had it taken her long to realize what all the fuss in Venice had been about.

She should be angry, concerned, _something—_but ignorance is bliss, right? Asking about the tension would just make it real, and as selfish as it sounds, Amy would much rather believe her boys got along than to know that they didn't. Besides, she is perfectly content in taking the Doctor's lead and pretending her (admittedly large) lapse in judgement the other night never happened.

All these somewhat dark inner musings pale in comparison to the concern that flares inside her stomach. The Doctor, more audible now, moans intelligibly. The concern twists into a fear Amy can't quite ignore. She's never seen the Doctor weak before, never seen him vulnerable. The fear grips tight before she can shake it away.

It feels like forever before she can bring herself to open the door.

**d.w**

Whatever Amy was expecting the Doctor's room to look like, it doesn't make the mark. His bed is large, easily fitting two, and Amy is struck with a pang of loneliness. The room is also large, and quite empty. The only things she can make out in the semi-darkness is what she suspects is a closet door, and a clock, hanging not quite straight on the wall. She tilts her head instinctively, only to find that she can't read the time. She stares instead at strange symbols and a single moving hand, whirring silently in furious circles.

The reminder that the Doctor isn't, in fact, human, is sharp and bewildering for a reason Amy doesn't understand.

"Isabella..."

Another light from nowhere flicks on, bathing the room in that soft light from the hall. Amy jumps and just barely stifles a shriek of surprise. Then her eyes flick to the ceiling, only to remain stuck in wonder. It is painted with dark navy and swirling black, and covered with bright yellow-white dots. It takes a second of squinting for Amy to realize she's staring a at something familiar; something she's seen once before outside a police box time machine, in her nightie while a Time Lord anchored her by the ankle.

Space.

_Come on, Amy. Focus. _The Doctor groans, and the pile of dark navy blanket and cream sheets shifts. She has to swallow a knot of apprehension before crossing the room as quietly as possible.

"Doctor?"

His handsome face is twisted in an awful grimace, and beads of sweat dot his forehead. The Doctor rolls in Amy's direction, still muttering. She thinks she hears...Saturnine? "I'm sorry. Isabella, Guido...Rosanna, _please don't_, no I'm so sorry please..."

She bites her lip, more afraid of waking him than anything else. Afraid of him finding her here, sending her away—or home. Amy perches carefully on the bed, reaching to touch the Doctor's shoulder and ignoring the way her fingers tremble. He doesn't react. She can't decide whether or not this a good sign.

"It's me," she says softly. "Amy."

If it's possible, the pained lines of his face deepen even further. "Please," he moans, and Amy has to say _something_, something to alleviate this ache in her chest. "Shh. It's alright, Doctor. You're alright." He stops. Just for a moment. Encouraged, she gently brushes his hair from his forehead.

"Saturnyne, Gallifrey. Everyone _gone_..." He sounds broken.

Her fingers curl unconsciously. He hardly ever mentions Gallifrey. She begins a stroking rhythm through his soft hair, beginning there and slipping from his hairline to his temple, smudging her thumb across the smooth skin underneath his eye. "I'm here, Doctor. Everything'll be okay." The Doctor leans into her hand, but a furrow still remains between his eyes. A tear slides down the sharp plane of his cheek and that fear Amy felt before rears up like a wild stallion.

"_Amelia." _She freezes. Her breath catches. It's been so long since she's heard her given name—so long since she's felt like anything from a fairytale.

"I'm sorry, Amelia...Amy please. _Don't_—" He chokes, as though he can't quite get the words out. Amy's heart lurches inside her throat.

"Shh, Doctor it's okay. I'm right here. I..." Keeping her voice level is suddenly the hardest task in the universe. "I forgive you. Don't be sorry."

Her hand is shaking again, so she restarts the motion through his hair in an effort to stop it. "Just relax, okay? I'm right here."

Something that sounds awful close to a whimper escapes the Doctor's lips. Something tugs harshly inside Amy's chest. "I'm right here."

At last, the Doctor is quiet and calm and Amy can breathe again. The silence that dominates afterwards isn't as overwhelming or as suffocating as she thought it would be. In fact, it's almost nice, comforting even. Amy can't recall the last time—if any—there had been quiet on the TARDIS.

"It's not your fault," she murmurs, doubtful he can hear her and feeling suddenly brazen for it. "It's not your fault, Doctor. At least, not for me. Or Rosanna." Gallifrey is another question altogether; one she can't ask. She hates that haunted look in his eyes.

His breath is steady and warm as it ghosts against her arm. Amy sighs a little, brushing the hair from the Doctor's forehead one last time before rising to leave the room. She tucks the covers around the Time Lord and the light winks out behind her.

**d.w**

The next morning Amy is the first to rise. Usually the Doctor's already tinkering in the console room by the time she stumbles in, still dressed in pyjamas and blinking sleep from her eyes.

"I don't sleep, Pond," he had said in patient explanation to her puzzled expression.

"Not at all?"

"Well," he'd amended, striding past the blue stabil—sorry, _boringers_. "Not nearly as much as you." Before Amy could point out she barely ever gets six hours, Rory appeared and the day's adventures began.

Not this morning. Amy isn't surprised in the least. Surely even Time Lords need some sleep, right? Taking a deep breath, she pads silently to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Morning Pond," says the Doctor, appearing just as the kettle begins to whistle. Amy echoes the sentiment, smiling out of habit but unsure if it's convincing enough. She stands, turning off the heat with a flick of her wrist. It makes her strangely nostalgic for her lonely Leadworth home and all that food that the newly regenerated Doctor rejected, much to her growing bemusement.

The presence of a gas stove in the TARDIS kitchen has to be some kind of fire hazard, she muses, but before her mind can properly phrase the question, the Doctor's voice diverts her attention. "Amy."

"Hmm?" She spins around only to find him _right there_, so close that a breath would press his two hearts against her one and Amy would finally discover what that rhythm would sound like. All thoughts of the stove vanish. The Doctor's eyes are warm, familiar, wise and curious, and just the tiniest bit sad all at once. It's mesmerizing. And then he leans forward, brushing his lips against her forehead in what may be the lightest kiss she's ever received.

He murmurs something, low and soft from the back of his throat. Before Amy can even draw in a breath, the Time Lord disappears through the kitchen door and she's left breathless from the poignant feeling of intimacy lingering around her. She doesn't even realize she's still standing there against the stove until Rory pops into her line of vision. Amy busies herself with tea, which is followed by breakfast and a shower and a change of clothes.

By the time she makes it back to the console room, it's as though nothing—including the night before—had happened. As they take off to a century she can't even imagine and a planet she can't pronounce, Amy locks eyes with the Doctor and he offers her that tilting half-smile she didn't get to see in the kitchen.

"Thank you," he'd said.

She smiles back and tries to convey _always_ in her expression, because no matter what happens Amy knows she'll always want to be there for him. There's no way of knowing if he really understands, of course, but she's hopeful. Besides, it's the Doctor. If anyone could figure it out, it would be him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I got a stamp of approval from Lynn, which prompted my summoning the courage to post. Please be gentle? I was originally going to include more of Rory, but then I started writing and this is what came out. Title comes from 'Shattered' by Trading Yesterday, off their More Than This album. There's a lovely vid on youtube to that song, called Amy/Eleven: shattered, the extended finished version.

As much as I love Rory, I secretly still ship Amy and the Doctor. Hope that doesn't deter your opinion of this fic haha.

Please review!

Annie


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